


for all this wandering

by colberry



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Aoiha and Angst are synonymous, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, Smut, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberry/pseuds/colberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hips snap against his, a desperate keen hovering in Aoi’s throat as Uruha murmurs against his pulse, “I almost fell in love with you once.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	for all this wandering

i.  
   
Smoke is still curling inside his lips when Uruha leans in to steal the nicotine – eyes shut tight against the old familiar feeling of carcinogens whispering sweet-nothings.  Of stealing little spaces between the elder’s ribs.  Staying there, leaving him gaping wide, even after he pulls back and flickers away into Aoi’s sleepless nights.  
   
Hips snap against his, a desperate keen hovering in Aoi’s throat as Uruha murmurs against his pulse, _“I almost fell in love with you once.”_  
   
Midnight locks framing his face in a dark broken halo, Aoi sinks his nails into Uruha’s shoulders with every thrust – stains his fingertips crimson and watches the other’s eyelids flutter close, _“Only once?”_  
   
Legs wrap around Uruha’s torso, hips lifting to make white vertigo crash into his chest – Aoi’s plush lips smirking amongst the whitecap-sea of sheets that have tangled them so _close_.  Close enough that Uruha can’t remember who started it – who lost first.   
   
And maybe it was him, he thinks, as Aoi drags his mouth across his jaw.  Swallowing his goosebumps, burying himself deeper into Uruha’s grasp.  And Uruha grapples for something, _anything_ , because he remembers what it’s like to fall and _fuck_ –  
   
   
ii.  
   
 _\-- it’s not his name Aoi whispered against his tongue that night._  
   
iii.  
   
 _\-- even though Aoi’s name was all Uruha could brokenly moan into the stranger’s collarbone behind the bar._  
   
   
iv.  
   
Aoi nips his panting maw, eyes dark and screaming, visage soaked in shadow.  The burn is beautiful – a perfect tragedy to cradle in his palms as he feels every curve of the elder’s body beneath him.  _There, waiting, letting him take-take-take_ –  
   
The headboard knocks into the wall – shaking the entire world apart – and Aoi grabs the back of Uruha’s neck, catches a glimpse of the freckle below his eye that is always hidden by navy kohl.  His fingers twine around the dark-rooted strands until his flesh purples.  And Uruha bids goodbye to every last promise to _keep away_ , the wonderful-horrible tug of Aoi’s hand – _heart, maybe, if it’s still there and not slathered against each fallen star_ – beckoning him closer, hot whispers begging him to _come on –_  
   
\-- _come on and steal everything you forgot._  
   
Uruha can hear the rattle in Aoi’s breath as he tightens his grip, jerking Uruha’s head back so he mold his lips to the younger’s jugular, reminding Uruha the mornings of waking up intertwined and wearing the dawn-kissed light.  Those days when _forever_ felt too heavy – something that could slip from their callused hearts too easily, something they were too royally fucked up with bruising promises and broken answering machines to ever properly hold against the night – but still _tried because their scars aligned so perfectly_.  
   
But now there are only ghosts in their bones, Aoi’s mouth full of hell and Uruha laps at the brimstone – clutches at the elder’s wicked hips  
   
 _(sharp, cutting his flesh like glass)_.     
     
   
v.  
   
Aoi was on his last cigarette, leaning out the window in the aftermath at an awkward angle.    
   
He craned his neck upwards, a shift of hollow bones, trying to catch the stars at just the right time – each exhale of nicotine a wish, a fleeting _what-if_ that faded into the crisp bite of the evening air.  There, as his lips began to chap and the ache in his lungs grew heavy, Uruha perched his chin on his shoulder – fitting perfectly along the dip of his slouching back.   
   
 _“What are we looking at?”_  
   
Aoi took a deep breath, inhaled as much smoke as he could, let the wisps curl against his mouth and burn his words.  He leaned back into the touch, turned a little to the right so he could still keep an eye on what he thought might be a star or a suspended plane, and also the soft blur of Uruha’s mussed hair.   
   
The grip on his waist was loose, letting him dream of breaking the windowpane and jumping – falling to leap and kiss those galaxies and maybe reach behind and take Uruha too because the universe is too wide and _forever_ to be alone – but still there, keeping him _here_ for one last mortal breath.  
   
Aoi shrugged, the movement making Uruha tilt his head and press those bowed lips on the faint line of freckles _(perhaps from getting too close to the sun)_ on his shoulder.  But even as Aoi stilled, Uruha kept moving – open-mouthed kisses pressing little _love-me-nots_ into his pores, soft breaths trailing down his shoulder blades.  His large hands spread out against his hips, thumbs finding the gentle curve of his hip bones, lips touching the nape of his neck – face hidden amongst Aoi’s midnight locks.  And Aoi let his free hand – the one encased in silver rings, glinting brightly in the dark – catch Uruha’s fingers.  He traced every heartline and goosebump, closed his eyes and took another drag.  
   
 _What do you see, Yuu?_ Uruha’s words sunk into his skin; he can feel each syllable float into his spine.  His fingers curl a little tighter, lifting to grasp Aoi’s wandering hand.   
   
Aoi hums lowly, thumb sliding across a black fingernail and flicks his tongue to the butt of his cigarette.  He needs the burn, wants to coat his teeth with ash – wants to lean out the window and scream just a little.  Just until his legs feel weak and Uruha starts to smile _(because isn’t Aoi so crazy, isn’t he such a rockstar, look at him-look-at-him)_.  But Uruha notices the shift in Aoi’s neck – maybe he can see his pulse too; the desperate thrum and breathless pitter-patters – and starts to trace sloppy constellations into Aoi’s hip.   
   
Leans forward to mold his lips beneath Aoi’s jaw:  “ _Where do you go when you look out there?”_  
   
   
 _would you_  
 _take me_  
 _with you_  
   
   
Each breath in his ear is the birth of another note  
of another crooning song with a weeping guitar  
of another sidelong glance in the studio as the demo tape plays on –  
   
like a scratched record; come-come-back-to-me – plea-plea-se.  
   
   
vi.  
   
Reita hums along with the tape, fingers already miming the notes and Kai absently taps out the synthetic beats on his knees.  
     
And Ruki nods along, says _this is perfect – fucking perfect –_  
   
Aoi looks up from  his hands (and the stains of cigarettes lingering beneath his nails) and catches Uruha’s eyes.  
   
   
vii.  
   
 _this is –_  
   
Uruha slowly turns away, his wan smile cracking his face apart.  
   
 _kind of tragic, isn't it?_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ: December 19th, 2011


End file.
